


Fucking Scent Blockers

by Winterlynne_Norvic



Series: Steter Week 2020 [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Car Accidents, M/M, Mates, Mates Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Steter Week 2020, Vampire Stiles Stilinski, Werewolf Conferences & Conventions, Werewolf Mates, mirrors and vampires don’t get along
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:27:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25611301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterlynne_Norvic/pseuds/Winterlynne_Norvic
Summary: “I apologize for hitting you with my car, I didn’t see you in the rear view mirror.”Stiles snorted and then tried to cover his face in horror. The wolf wasn’t letting go of his wrists though, and all of the recycled blood in Stiles’ veins pooled in his cheeks and turned him bright red. Being a vampire hadn’t lost him the ability to blush like it had the ability to be seen in mirrors (the irony almost had him snorting again), and the wolf was staring at him in confused bemusement.“Sorry dude, that wasn’t funny, I’m not laughing because being hit with a car isn’t funny.”
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Steter Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853551
Comments: 37
Kudos: 680





	Fucking Scent Blockers

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be for the Werewolf convention day, and I mean I do *mention* it....but we never actually make it inside...

Being accident prone has led to some interesting situations in Stiles’ life, a rather long life despite what his youthful appearance may suggest because Stiles somehow always manages to stumble, trip, flail, and spaz into situations where Stiles’ person comes into harm. 

It’s actually how Stiles earned his longer than expected life. It turns out that the once local nest of vampires dwelling near his village in  _ Rzeczpospolita _ had the utmost powerful wards this side of the continent, and no one searching for the vampires with even a hint of maliciousness in their hearts would be able to find their rather sizable coven. Apparently the wards did not see the thin wandering human alone in the woods a threat in any way shape or form. Luckily, neither did the vamps for they accepted him as one of their own after Stiles managed to charm each and every one of them with his never ending babbling. 

While Stiles didn’t come into harm that day by some miracle, after months of sneaking out to see his undead companions, unforeseen circumstances (Stiles falling down a hill and cursing loud and long enough to curdle milk with the foulness of his tongue, profusely bleeding everywhere turning every vamp eye in the vicinity crimson at the scent to the horror of a maid hanging laundry nearby) brought Stiles and the coven to the attention of hunters passing through. Unluckily for Stiles, wards only work when you’re inside them, and as he was still a few months shy of 18, the leader of the coven refused to take him in insisting Stiles wait until he was of age. 

That day almost never came.

The hunters struggling to gain entrance to the vampire nest thought they’d acquire leverage of some sorts by taking and torturing Stiles. All they brought upon themselves were their own deaths, but not before the kidnapped human verged onto succumbing to his wounds. Babbling may have not endeared him to the hunters, but it did win him a brood of vampires, ones that did not wish to see their Mischief die that day.

Well, to die that day and  _ stay _ dead.

Which led him here, some centuries and and a good many eventful situations later, most of which caused by his clumsy self that had never learned the preternatural stillness or grace of his kind in everyday life, although he did adjust to the years passing better than most.

Here being flat on his back with gravel digging into his (naturally) pale skin in the middle of a hotel parking lot after being hit by a rather expensive fancy car reversing out of its parking spot. There’s blood dripping down his face, delicately adorning his thin wrists from his shredded palms that are already healing. Stiles can’t help his frown at the wasted food leaking from his body. He’d have to feed at least three days earlier than scheduled, and that’s if the werewolf currently staring at him in shock doesn’t kill him first.

Now, they aren’t actually natural enemies, whoever started that rumour got some facts seriously mixed. Seriously, just because they’re both apex predators doesn’t mean every meeting would become a fight to the death. They didn't even have to compete for a food source, and neither species wants to be outed or slaughtered by the general population so having a feud that spanned centuries is seriously illogical,  _ but _ vamps don’t have a good rep and werewolves can be dull witted brutes who think it’s a grand idea to kill the fanged parasites.

“Are you alright?”

Stiles blinked. The voice from the werewolf was silky and low, and for some reason asking after Stiles' well being.

The wolf crouched in front of Stiles and took hold of Stiles’ hands. Fully healed now but the wolf studied the blood with a displeased expression.

“I apologize for hitting you with my car, I didn’t see you in the rear view mirror.”

Stiles snorted and then tried to cover his face in horror. The wolf wasn’t letting go of his wrists though, and all of the recycled blood in Stiles’ veins pooled in his cheeks and turned him bright red. Being a vampire hadn’t lost him the ability to blush like it had the ability to be seen in mirrors (the irony almost had him snorting again), and the wolf was staring at him in confused bemusement.

“Sorry dude, that wasn’t funny, I’m not laughing because being hit with a car isn’t funny.”

“Nor is it good for pack relations, especially if I’ve caused you any lasting head trauma.” And that sounded like agreement, but-

“What?!” Pack relations?? Vampires didn’t have packs (broods, nests, and covens yes, but) packs were a wolf thing.

The man in front of him thought Stiles was a wolf. Dear God, the nest is going to die when they hear this story. Stiles was getting teased forever after this, for certain.

“I’m assuming your alpha won’t be very happy to learn you almost got run over, even if it was by Alpha Hale’s youngest brother.”

Hale?! And the gorgeous man in front of him is the Alpha’s youngest brother? Left hand and one of the largest names in black market item trading? Supernatural and human worlds alike the wolf in front of him could only be described as burning hot and infamous.

“Unless you’re a lone wolf?” Peter inquired, and the curiosity Stiles heard clear as day even in his scentless panic (thank you witches for scent blockers) was anything but idle.

“You’re Peter Hale.” Stiles breathed, Peter Fucking Hale, Stiles felt a little faint. Only Stiles could get hit by a car outside a werewolf convention in front of a man he’d worked with before but never met, under his alias  _ Mischief _ . If his name weren’t so horrible already, he’d actually consider adding accident prone to it.

The curiosity in his icy blue eyes turned a little sharper as Peter gave Stiles a semi appreciative once over, probably scanning for something to give him a look into the innermost working is Stiles’ mind, maybe checking to see if there had been something he’d missed in his first appraisal. Perhaps the fact that Stiles isn’t a wolf, for example. (Fucking hell, of all the times his scent blocker wasn’t handy)

“I am indeed, mind telling me your name, darling?”

Stiles tried not to shiver at the sound of the endearment, but he couldn’t keep his pupils from dilating or Peter’s sharp curiosity from changing flavours to something new with notes of hunger and intent.

Stiles really wanted to beg the man in front of him to  _ not _ eat him. Rationally Stiles new Peter wasn’t literally the Big Bad Wolf and that he was no little Red Riding hood despite his trademark red hoodie. Plus, out of the two, only Stiles’ species regularly partook in the consumption of people, but if Stiles read him correctly, Peter absolutely planned on devouring Stiles as soon as possible.

How he would devour Stiles remained to be seen.

“Stiles.” He eventually replied instead of begging. Knowing the wolf’s reputation begging Peter might have the opposite of the desired effect. It did Not help that Stiles was not adverse to the idea of begging him to be devoured in the way that ends with many, many orgasms.

Peter motioned his head at their joined hands, “May I, Stiles?” 

Remarkably, Vampirism also hadn’t managed to cure Stiles of his newly diagnosed ADHD while also making medications like Adderall useless to him. Why is that relevant? One of the voices in Stiles’ head asked (Stiles had named him Void to fit with his dark and edgy vampiric life, filled with coffee and college exams) Well, Void, Stiles felt like two very different situations were going on simultaneously, and Stiles understood what was happening in neither of them.

“Uhhhhhh, sure?” He said, very unsure of anything at all.

Peter lifted their hands to his face, eyes meeting and staying on Stiles’, before he gently dragged his tongue slowly over blood dampened skin. Just once.

It just so happened that both of them froze at the exact same moment.

Stiles in a mix of shock and apprehension. While Peter would not smell his undead nature with the scent blocker dousing Stiles, he would definitely be able to taste it on his skin and in the blood that is both belonging to Stiles and not, and therefore will taste like him and won’t. The shock came from the action itself. Peter wanted to groom him, and that- Stiles couldn’t even mentally articulate. Grooming is intimate, and Peter wanted to groom Stiles.  _ Had _ wanted to, in the one swipe of a tongue surely that had changed...

Peter opened his mouth-Stiles braced himself for the words about to come out (vampire, or bloodsucker, or leach)-and whispered-

“Mate.”

Stiles blinked.

Peter beheld Stiles with something akin to reverence and joy, earth shattering in its intensity. “You’re my mate.”

Huh, Stiles blinked again, he really hadn’t been expecting that.

“Yours?” And Stiles for all his bravado and confidence and strength, could not deny that his voice shook with the hope and longing and every other heart wrenching emotion clogging his throat. Even with a nest, Stiles had been alone with only himself as an anchor for far too long, and with a mate, Stiles would never have to be alone again. 

“Mine.” He growled, possessive and full of promise, and Stiles leaned into him unconsciously.

Mates were special and rare, even in a millennia one might never find theirs. Someone who fit you just right, and you them, balanced, but not predestined. Overwhelming and steadying all in one breath.

“I think I’d like that.” Stiles had been waiting lifetimes for Peter, and he wouldn’t be losing him now.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Hope you enjoyed reading! This ended up shorter than I meant for it to be but what can you do? If there’s interest I do have ideas to continue the story and I wouldn’t mind writing more (This time with Peter’s perspective and we actually make it inside the convention! Wow!!)


End file.
